12/4/2024 Poetry by Timothy Direlle Batson Stephen A. Wolfe CC
Drunk It’s not an emergency 1 am phone call, no message half-lidded sleep eyes see the smoke of menthol cigarettes curling out of the receiver; little blue vapors vodka-soaked fulmination, loneliness, madness It’s not an emergency 2:20 am phone call, muddled words he is Ötzi thawing from the ice says I love you... I love you like it’s supposed to mean something like in the saying, he will become It’s not an emergency 4:43 am phone call, mouth breathing flushes of orange kindle through the blinds a graveled throat pours out into exhausted ears all sins, all fragility, promises, infidelity wearing down the will to nothing It’s not an emergency ART I have been so angry for so long now that I am unsure if I know how to feel anything else and I know, that is a slow way to die systemic failure economic collapse artistic impotence ; (the things I didn’t say) triangles on triangles where the intersection of focus is the sun; couples in a mirror; a bouquet pinned to the front of a dress; an arrow pierced heart; a boat in the water; stars that wheel overhead; their eyes; one color from a giant brushstroke. moving moving moving We stood on the balcony passing a joint back and forth; the sky fracturing the flat gray into cerise, coral, cornflower alliterating all futures unfolding before us there is emptiness inside skyscrapers time travel is consequential everything changes I believe in futility and meaning. I know the elegiac thing would be to separate those two words with a comma (futility, meaning) breathe them out with a line break but the and is the best part. it makes me want to live Timothy Direlle Batson is a Seattle, WA based writer and aspiring cool dude. His writing has appeared in Roi Fainéant, Punk Monk Press and other publications. He is publisher and EIC @midlvlmag and can sometimes be found @thevicarslice Comments are closed.
|
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
December 2024
Categories |